


Routine

by thishasbeencary



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9621992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thishasbeencary/pseuds/thishasbeencary
Summary: Viktor pushes himself too hard, he always has, he knows that. Coaching and returning to skating isn't easy (especially since he expects himself to start back exactly where his career left off, despite being 28 and not having competitively skated for most of a season). And, really, he should have seen this coming.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm spelling Viktor with a k, Katsuki Yuuri with two u's, and Yuri(o) Plisetsky with one u.  
> This is my first time writing Yuri!!! On Ice fic, as well as my first time posting any of my fic on AO3, so that's exciting.  
> I'm on tumblr on [yoyoplisetsky](https://yoyoplisetsky.tumblr.com/) (yoi side blog) or [cary-onmywaywardson](https://cary-onmywaywardson.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Basically, I wanted to injure one of them. This chapter's (attempted) fluff and setting up the routine they've fallen into in Russia together, but, as you can see in the description/tags, one of them (yeah, because it's so hard to guess) is going to get hurt. Soon. Very soon.
> 
> Also why do I just stay in Viktor's head the whole chapter, I'm sorry, I swear there's actual story not just 'how deep can cary dive into viktor's head to break him'.
> 
> (Not all chapters will be this long, I imagine like 2000-3000 for any other sections; I just wanted to get as much world building over with as I could in one sitting).

Russia was far from foreign territory for Viktor Nikiforov, clearly. Born and raised, even if the 'raised' part was a little less clear, what with his figure skating career. He'd had a routine in Russia, even though it seemed that each year, he'd spend less and less time there, between competitions, and exhibits, and interviews, and – well, Viktor could write an exhaustive list of reasons he was taken away from Russia. A long, boring list that no one would care to read, and didn't have to read, because it no longer applied.

The old Russian routine didn't either. No more of what felt simply like waking up, skating, and going to sleep. Honestly, no wonder he had lost so much interest in the world that he'd grown up in over the past few years. He had no problem with routine, he liked routine, but the monotonous lifestyle of now more than half of his life?

Not even at his worst had Viktor imagined that he _hated_ figure skating, but there were moments where he wondered: What if? What if he hadn't skated? At this point, it was so ingrained in his being, he couldn't imagine a season off. Sure, technically, last season, he hadn't been skating for himself, but he had skated. Better yet, he'd coached Yuuri, he'd fallen in love, he'd remembered the reason he began skating in the first place.

Love.

This routine in Russia had changed, upon the arrival of one Katsuki Yuuri. Yes, clearly, it still consisted of waking up, skating, and going to sleep, but now there was _more_. Now, it was waking up, and rolling over to check if Yuuri was awake yet. Some mornings, he'd be greeted to an empty bed and the sounds of someone in the kitchen, or in the shower, or in the common area. Some mornings, like this one, he awoke with Yuuri's face pressed against his side, soft breathing making his chest rise and fall while he kept the most peaceful expression Viktor would ever see on him.

Viktor threaded his fingers through Yuuri's hair softly, just watching him, letting the sunlight wake him up. This was love. That's what he'd been trying to find last season, right? Trying to discover what love was for him? He'd known love for his skates before, he'd known parental, familial love, but he'd been bored. He'd been lonely. He didn't really know anything he thought he knew. That was why he'd developed Eros and Agape, why he'd struggled so much with both.

He was no stranger to love, at least, as a concept. He was no stranger to a comforting touch (his parents, when he was very young; Yakov, no matter his tough exterior; Chris, Yuuri, Yuri, the list spanned on). He was no stranger to sex, either, as his reputation was sure to hold. Attractive, suave, god only knows what else.

Well, actually, now he had a direct source for what else. Yuuri, whose eyes were opening, immediately squinted at Viktor, draping his body over Viktor's, only to grab his glasses and push them up onto his nose. "Breakfast?"

Yuuri was hardly a morning person, something that Viktor thought he'd be more frustrated with than he was, considering that he used mornings to psyche himself up for the rest of the day, to become the Viktor Nikiforov everyone expected. Bright eyes, big smile, ready to face the rest of the world. Yuuri, on the other, usually wanted nothing more than food, coffee, and a kiss (The kiss came first, if he was in a particularly good mood. Otherwise, the kisses had to wait for after breakfast). Viktor nodded, standing, draping his arms around Yuuri, even though he's immediately pried off. "Need help?"

Yuuri rolled his eyes (fondly, Viktor always reminded himself, because it was always so. Yuuri's eyes were always so _fond_ ). "By 'help' do you mean making us late to practice again because your help involves you touching and kissing me more than it involves actual cooking?"

"So little faith!" Nonetheless, Viktor let himself get disconnected from Yuuri, swooping in to kiss his forehead, until Yuuri let out a soft laugh, pushing him off again.

"Shower and get ready to go. _My_ coach can't punish me for being late, since he'll be, also. Yours is another story." Yuuri shoved him once more, disappearing out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area, where Viktor heard Makkachin bark hello, and it all felt _right_. Yuuri Katsuki in his apartment was just that, right.

Screw the old routine, this was the new one. Viktor stripped out of his pajamas (another new routine, because Yuuri was a blanket hog _and_ usually ended up cuddling Makkachin instead of Viktor, probably out of memories of Vicchan? At least, that was what Viktor hoped it was. Therefore, Viktor was forced to provide his own body heat most nights, with Yuuri just laying at his side. So, one side was warm, and the rest of his body had to fight the cold room. Thus, much thicker pajamas), and showered.

That's how the routine went: wash his body, wash his hair, lament for a short time about how _short_ and _thin_ it felt, move on (because Yuuri loved him and his hair; because his hair wasn't _that_ thin; because it was still entirely _Viktor Nikiforov_ ) from his hair, rinse, and get out. He'd make his way to the bedroom in just a towel, close the door, throw on his training clothes, methodically dry his hair until it was acceptable to go outside and not freeze to death (though he'd likely still put on a hat, especially if they were running late. Half for warmth, half to hide his signature hair).

He went to the kitchen next, and, now, Yuuri let him drape his arms around his waist, and kiss his cheek good morning. A cup of tea, already half empty, was set in front of Yuuri, another mug (Viktor's favorite, the one with a poodle printed on the front. It had been Yuuri's before it had been Viktor's, one of the few household items he'd brought from Hasetsu to Saint Petersburg. It was Viktor's now. Yuuri used a shiny blue one Viktor had gotten for his birthday one year) set aside for Viktor, who immediately took it up into his hands after he let go of Yuuri.

"We've got half an hour before we have to go to the rink." Yuuri reminded, because Yuuri was good at that (and Yuuri was afraid of Yakov, but that was something that Viktor was working to get him over. Yakov wasn't frightening, he just acted that way for his skaters. Yuuri, as not one of Yakov's skaters, had no reason to be afraid of him. Yuuri disagreed).

"Do we have to pick up Yurio today?" That was another good thing about Yuuri moving in with Viktor, the fact that he had someone to remember the things that he would never remember. Certain things, Viktor would never forget – anniversaries, birthdays, events, dates. Others, like promises (to pick Yuri up on the way to the rink, to pay better attention to Yakov, to, say, choreograph someone's senior debut), he either chose to ignore, or genuinely forgot about, causing quite a few problems for him before Yuuri moved in. Yuri had alternate ways to get to the rink, of course, but staying over with Viktor, or Viktor picking him up was _convenient_ , and he was always sure to rub it in if/when Viktor forgot.

"He was getting there early today, but he's going to come home with us." Yuuri rolled his eyes, but, again, that fond smile was on his face, and Viktor has always been so glad to see it. As different as they are, when Viktor saw that light in Yuuri's eyes, he knew that it's going to be okay. Yuuri could scold him all he wanted, but he knew for every arguably bad quality Viktor possessed, there were good. If Yuuri were to be genuinely upset, Viktor would know. "And staying with us until Nationals. This is your last practice before it, Viktor. Are you ready to wow the world again?"

And Yuuri stood up on his tip-toes to kiss Viktor, a sweet kiss that portrayed everything that he meant just then, and more. A kiss for Viktor to hold onto. "I'm Viktor Nikiforov." Viktor winked, kissing Yuuri back before pulling away to shove a mouthful of breakfast into his mouth. "What do I do that the world doesn't love?"

Maybe it was the way that he smiled with the words, one Yuuri had come to know was for show, for the world to see. Or, maybe, it was the fact that he hadn't bothered to chew and swallow before he'd spoken again, and the world's sexiest and most desirable figure skater just spit food all over their kitchen table. Either way, Yuuri giggled, his eyes lighting up and hand falling over his mouth. "Maybe _that_. I'd keep that just for the people who can love all of you. I'd maybe not spit food at the judges. You never know, though. You did say you wanted this season to be surprising." Before Yuuri ducked his head down, Viktor caught a sparkle of amusement and teasing in his eyes, and could only respond in turn.

"Well, that's hardly the big surprise I'd like to drop on them." Viktor huffed in a way that anyone else would think he was insulted, but Yuuri just laughed again, shaking his head.

"Eat your breakfast, Viktor." It was a command, but he still smiled, turning back to his own breakfast, typing something out on his phone. A message, probably to Phichit or his family. He kept in touch with all of them an admirable amount, something that had worried Viktor when he suggested Yuuri come with him to St. Petersburg so they could both participate in the next season. So far, though, he'd seemed to have no problems, even if he'd video chat with his family almost every week. But they were both _happy_ , and that was what mattered. To both of them.

Honestly, how had Viktor Nikiforov become the luckiest man in the entire universe? Sure, figure skating enthusiasts would say hard work and whatever, relate all of his success and joy to his skating, but that wasn't true. Not at all. No, Viktor had won Yuuri. And that made him luckiest. Even though Yuuri was massively out of his league (and would disagree nonstop when Viktor even suggested such a thing). Viktor smiled at him, finally resuming his own breakfast.

And then the routine resumed: they drank their tea, they ate the breakfast that Yuuri (who didn't trust Viktor in his own kitchen. Honestly, what did he think he did before Yuuri moved in?) had prepared, they left for the rink. They both wore thick coats, hats, and gloves over their training clothes, hands linked between them and heavy bags full of gear dangling from their free hands.

They got to the rink, on time, barely, and sat together as they put on their skates, as they warmed up. This was good, this was common, this was routine. When they finally got onto the ice, Viktor gave Yuuri small exercises to continue his warm ups, while he worked with Yakov to perfect the few things left in his own program. After about an hour on the rink, Yuri made his way over to them and started trash-talking Viktor about how he was going to take him _down_ in Nationals, and he better hope he was prepared to _lose_. Yuuri stayed on the other side of the rink and pretended not to be laughing. Viktor, standing at the right angle to be able to see where Yuuri had skated off to could see his shoulders shaking just slightly, though.

"You're still young," He dismissed Yuri, patting him on the head despite the pure _rage_ that overcomes the boy's face at the words and actions. "You'll win eventually. This is my year, though."

"You think every year is your year, old man! Just wait 'til you're wrong!" Yuri spits back at him, skating off to where Yakov has summoned him to finish his own routine, leaving Viktor to go back to Yuuri.

And they skated without incident (or, well, without more incident than usual. Viktor got distracted, Yuuri stammered through excuses for why Viktor was distracted, Yuri acted like they were the bane of his existence, Georgi had some sob story to tell, Mila did everything she could to enrage Yuri, and Yakov looked like he was ready to disown all of them, but that was to be expected at this point). And that was the routine. Skate, take off their skates and training clothes, bundle back up, walk out into the Russian cold (Viktor and Yuuri holding hands, and Yuri staying a safe distance behind them so people "won't know I'm with you idiots. I'm just here for food and because Yakov told me to, anyway"). They stop for food on the way back to Viktor and Yuuri's apartment, but Yuri demands that they bring the food back and eat it there ("I'm tired and you're embarrassing").

The routine in the apartment when Yuri is around isn't much different from when it's just Yuuri and Viktor, except that Yuuri cooks more, and says less. There's also less affection. Not because Yuri _actually_ disapproves of it, but because Yuuri is so easy to embarrass that even Yuri telling him that they're being disgusting was enough for him to turn (adorably) bright red and duck away, babbling apologies to the younger skater, clinging at Viktor's side.

Viktor would scold Yuri more often if a) Yuri would let him or b) he thought anything that Yuri said (in terms of their relationship, in terms of how much he hated Viktor or Yuuri) was genuine. Instead, he'd catch Yuri smiling in their direction when they weren't looking, or biting his lip a bit too hard to keep from laughing. He'd see Yuri with his feet propped up on the coffee table, focused on whatever was on his phone, petting Makkachin absently. He'd see Yuri just as comfortable as the two of them, and he'd know it was all for show. The Russian Punk would stay the Russian Punk, but Viktor knew Yuri, too.

The best part about routines is that they continued, day by day, with little variation. And it may seem tedious and monotonous, but if your routine was something you loved, everything flew by in a flash. His normal routine carried him through the last days before Nationals.

Despite them being in Russia (clearly, considering it was just Russian skaters competing), Yuuri and Viktor shared a hotel room the night before the competition, Yuri safely tucked away in a different one, doing god knows what to prepare himself for the event. It was closer to the actual event, and would take Viktor out of his mindset of everyday life, those were Yakov's reasonings. And they made sense, Yuuri and Viktor both had no problem with it. Yuuri rolled on his side, pressing himself against Viktor's side, and Viktor had his arm wrapped around his waist.

This was new, there was no routine. Not yet had they had a day where Viktor had to skate while Yuuri only watched, where Viktor was competing instead of Yuuri. That night, Viktor had to learn a new routine, one that he hoped would be infrequent (this hope stemming from the fact that he assumed he and Yuuri would mostly be competing in the same competitions, not that the routine was unpleasant in any way).

What he learned was that Yuuri got more nervous than Viktor did, his hands fisted tight in his shirt. "You know your routine," Yuuri had been speaking like this, softly in English to Viktor, for a little while now. The first few comments, Viktor had tried to answer, but it was clear that Yuuri wasn't saying them for him to answer. "You're skating like you never took time off. You're Viktor Nikiforov. You're amazing, and the world's going to know it again. We're all going to remember what was missing all of last season."

When he seemed he was actually done, Viktor kissed the top of his head. "Don't worry so much, Yuuri. I've trained well. I was thinking about the routines while I was helping you in Japan for the Grand Prix, anyway, they're not nearly as new as Yakov and the world think. I've been skating since I was young, and, you're right. I'm _Viktor Nikiforov._ I'm going to blow their minds. And then we're going to go home and I'm going to cook you dinner before we celebrate the return of Viktor Nikiforov to the skating world."

Yuuri nodded against his chest, though he didn't seem any less nervous.

Viktor slept as soundly as he could before a competition that night, and he just hoped Yuuri slept just as easily by his side (or, well, his real hope was that Yuuri slept at all. Honestly, had he even been this nervous for his own competitions?). He woke up in the morning to an empty bed, which would be surprising if he didn't know his own routine before Yuuri's competitions – making sure that he ate something, and he was as calm as he could be.

Viktor smiled, forcing himself out of bed (because he had to be at the rink on time, or (better yet) early, because he knew that he would be stopped for interviews, and he knew that he had to warm up, and Yakov would be _pissed_ if he didn't do either of those things, and the last thing he needed was an overly angry coach in his first competition back). He was just stepping out of the bathroom, dressed in his training clothes when Yuuri showed back up, and he smiled.

And then there was the competition routine (even if slightly different from his with Yuuri the only one competing; and even more different from his own routine, from before he'd even known Yuuri had existed): breakfast, walk to the rink, interviews: And, holy shit, there were a lot of interviews this time. He'd grown used to microphones and cameras shoved in his face the second he stepped anywhere near an ice rink, but this was a whole new level. Yuuri tried to press himself invisibly into his side, but the GPF silver medalist wasn't going to blend in that easily.

Questions about his return, questions about their relationship, questions about his programs, questions about Yuuri's plans, questions, questions, questions, until Yakov finally appeared to drag them away so Viktor could warm up (and, honestly, thank god for Yakov. Viktor put on a good show and everything, but interviews were fucking _exhausting_ , even after all these years).

It felt like warming up went faster than ever, and Viktor was quickly off the ice again, hand in Yuuri's as he walked back to put on his costume for his short program. He'd been given a spot near the end of the rest of the skaters, so they took their time, making sure to watch what was going on, smiling at the scores. There were plenty of skaters in Russia, but Viktor wasn't afraid of their scores.

Yuri went before him, skating his routine with a grace that only improved every time he saw it. That was what made Viktor nervous. Not nervous enough that anyone else could tell (especially not Yuuri, oh, god, Viktor would _not_ let Yuuri know that he was nervous), but enough that he kept his eyes glued to the ice for any sign of fault. His turn was getting far too close, and he – he was ready.

He couldn't remember the last time he wasn't ready for a performance. The next few skaters flew by, and Viktor was next. He'd rested his forehead against Yuuri's partially through the last skater before him, murmuring soft words of comfort in Russian and English, half for himself and half for Yuuri.

And then he was on the ice, a wide smile on his face. Ready to please the crowd, like always! Before he could even skate, the announcers and the crowd were going wild, and why wouldn't they? Viktor Nikiforov was back! He was ready to take the skating world by storm! Could he do it? What new tricks could he possibly have up his sleeve?

Skating was natural to Viktor. The new program was slow, though a similar difficulty to what he'd performed in years' past. He'd have to raise the difficulty before Worlds, but it was enough for now, even skating against Yuri Plisetsky (the crowd seemed equally split on which of the two was the favorite to win). His free program was where he was putting more trust, knowing that it surpassed Yuri's technical difficulty, making any points he may not gain today easy to recover.

His theme for the season was revival, something that Yuuri found endlessly endearing, and Yakov had rolled his eyes at, considering how late Viktor was coming back, and how obvious the theme for the season was really _Yuuri._ The top of his costume was mostly pink, shimmering purple and blue adorning it in swirling patterns, and black buttons along the arms. The bottom looked much more plain – mostly black, except for more of the swirling patterns along his ankles and waist, twisting and curling. It was something he and Yuuri had worked a sleepless night on making perfect, on saying just what they wanted to say. It was just another touch that screamed Yuuri was all this season meant to him. As was made even more obvious as the program ended, and he smiled and waved to the crowd before catching Yuuri's eyes and grinning, skating right to him, and kissing him despite the bright red blush that immediately filled the man's cheeks.

"Viktor," He protested, shoving at his chest, but they both knew it was in vain as Viktor stepped off the ice, and Yuuri immediately followed him to the kiss and cry, sitting right by his side and watching with shining eyes as the scores were announced, squeezing his hand proudly (and, honestly, Katsuki Yuuri proud of Viktor Nikiforov, that seemed like something, as far as Viktor could tell, from Yuuri's wildest dreams. And something from Viktor's, too. Someone truly, completely proud of him. For a program with faults, for a program that was far from the best he could do. Just for skating, just for being Viktor).

As for the scores? Well, it was safe to say that he was back. It was lower than Yuri's, by nearly three points, but he'd be fine. Twenty-eight years old, a coach and a skater, but still Viktor Nikiforov was well on his way to reclaiming his role as figure skating god. The crowd was going wild (as was expected), and Viktor saw Yuri off to the side smirk proudly, as he should. Yuri should be so amazingly proud of his score, and Viktor wasn't surprised at all to know that Yuri was true competition this year. It was exciting. With Yuuri and Yuri around, Viktor not only had something to skate for, he had someone to skate against. He had someone to prove himself up against, he was in no way guaranteed a win, not when these two got better and better each time they performed. Yakov scolded him for his (few, but more than was expected from _Viktor Nikiforov_ ) mistakes, and soon enough, the day was over.

The previous night's routine was repeated, though Viktor knew that Yuuri slept more soundly knowing that Viktor had done well once, and that he was confident he could do well again.

The free skates decided the competition pretty early on, with when Viktor and Yuri went.

Viktor went first, a much more fast-paced skate than the day before, reminiscent of a very young Viktor Nikiforov (which Yuuri and he, again, had tried to portray in the costume). His costume was blue ("Like the flower crown!" Yuuri had finally blurted out, bright red, at Viktor's insistence for his reasoning. "And the roses, and – just, you look good in blue."), shimmering from every angle. Black, grey, and blue adornments were placed on the costume, in patterns reminiscent of the old ones ("Well, you can't wear your own old costumes again. But you want… it to be you?" Yuuri had been red again, clearly thinking about his own costume he was wearing of Viktor's. "So… make it _look_ like them, but make it new.").

The level of difficulty was one that could be expected of few (three of which were in the rink at that time: Viktor, Yuri, and Yuuri), but Viktor pulled it off with grace. A small over rotation on one of his first jumps, but the rest of the program was clean, and the audience (and Yuri and Yuuri) seemed perfectly aware of this. When he finished, the audience was screaming, the announcers shouting about how Viktor had definitely just made sure he was on the podium. Yuri was glaring at the ice, clearly calculating what he had to do to beat him. Yuuri was crying ("I was not crying, Viktor! I was just – shut up! I was proud of you!").

And, yeah, Viktor had definitely secured a seat on the podium, it was clear even with the amount of skaters that were left. They were good, he had no bad words to say about his competition, but he was _better_ , and he was going to skate this year like any other, and that meant no chance for so many. Yuuri was the one who kissed him at the kiss and cry this time, eyes shining with excitement as he wrapped his arms around his fiancé.

And then Yuri took the ice. It became clear in the Grand Prix Final that fifteen-year-old Yuri Plisetsky was a force to be reckoned with, but he wasn't backing down now, especially not when he was against Viktor again. Or, well, for the first time. Yuri had never competed in the same league as Viktor before, so this was a whole new thing for both of them, and it was clear that Yuri was taking it seriously.

The program was one that they'd seen so many times, but every time, it grew more and more complex, beautifully performed. Honestly, had Yuri not slightly lost his footing on one of his jumps, he could probably have easily surpassed Viktor's program again, lower technical score or not. Viktor had strong competition this season, and he was looking forward to proving himself to his world once again.

Stepping off the ice, Yuri looked angry, but was that really a show of anything? He ignored Viktor and Yuuri as he went to the kiss and cry, hard eyes set on the scoreboard. Viktor stared, waiting anxiously for the scores, Yuuri tapping out some song against his arm to try to calm his own anxieties, probably. It felt like the longest Viktor had ever waited for a score, especially one that wasn't his own.

Immediately after they were announced, the arena became loud with cheers and screams – Viktor had won. Unless some other competitor came out of nowhere and blew both Yuri and Viktor (scores that were only a fraction of a point apart, a closer margin than Viktor could remember having in so many years) out of the water, the gold and silver medalists were decided. Viktor Nikiforov was back, pulling off a gold medal, no matter how long he was gone.

Yuri pushed past him with a roll of his eyes, shaking his head. "Never again." The words were a warning, spoken not in a way that was necessarily a threat to Viktor. No, instead, it was Yuri telling him just how hard he was going to fight to beat him next time. How much harder Viktor still needed to work. His own program had been flawed, and it was a near miracle that he'd ended up in first place (as was soon for sure, after the rest of the skaters had performed).

To beat Yuri Plisetsky again, Viktor had to push himself. Especially since Yuri's motivation only grew with competition. It made the idea of Worlds exciting, the first competition where the three would likely all be on the ice together, pushing each other to new degrees of difficulty that had never before been possible, and other skaters pushing back. It wasn't that they had no competition, there were other very talented skaters (J.J. Leroy, Christophe Giacometti, Otabek Altin and so many more could be listed, skaters that Viktor was excited to come against himself in competition again), but Viktor, Yuuri, and Yuri had a dynamic that only pushed each other harder and harder to be the very best that they could be, to be monsters and gods of the figure skating world.

Honestly, it didn't matter what medal he had earned at that point (though, the gold was a nice touch, especially with Yuri placing so close to him. It really made it clear what the rest of the season had in store for fans and competitors. Plus, Yuri's scowls from below him on the podium were something he was proud to see. Yuri had worked so hard, he was going to surpass even him soon enough; that excited Viktor). What mattered was that he had proved himself to the figure skating world once again. Just because Viktor Nikiforov had taken a season off, just because he was getting old, that didn't mean he was any less of a force to be reckoned with. He smiled proudly to the cameras, and answered any questions happily, seeking Yuuri out to go home (not to the hotel, to their apartment. Where he'd make them shitty food because he was too tired to make proper dinner, and they'd watch a movie and then go to sleep) once he was done, holding his hand, and smiling at Yuuri laying his head against his shoulder.

All in all, it was a pretty good new routine. Viktor liked routine. He liked knowing, generally, the pattern of what was to come next. He liked having something to look forward to, and that anything that he didn't normally do was a surprise. Viktor liked surprises. Routines made it easy, made it simple to know exactly the outline of the day, and make every new day even more important, for the little changes that would grace them.

His routine he'd had in Russia before he'd met Yuuri had grown monotonous. He was sick of skating, of that being his whole life. He was uninspired. But it was clear from this competition that that was no longer the case. His inspiration had returned, full force, and he had love. His life had meaning – love. Once again, he could express his love to the ice. But now, when he came off the ice, he didn't feel lost. He felt love. He had Yuuri's arms around him, Yuri's affection (in the strange ways Yuri chose to show affection), he had a routine that every day made him more and more excited to skate, and to live his life.

And, also, he had another gold medal. Yuuri was sitting on their bed with it now (well, with the gold medal, and with a bowl of soup that Viktor had heated up for dinner, clearly waiting for the man himself to climb up with him), and that in itself was enough for it to be the best medal he'd won. Viktor climbed into bed beside Yuuri, laying his head on his shoulder, setting the medal onto the bedside table, starting to eat his own soup.

"We're going to have to find somewhere new to put it. Your trophy case is a disorganized nightmare." Yuuri's voice was sweet and quiet, teasing Viktor (though he'd expressed his desire to reorganize Viktor's medals and awards before, so that wasn't a complete tease).

"We'll find somewhere. We'll need a trophy room, between the two of us." And Viktor leaned in to kiss Yuuri, who set his soup aside to kiss him back. When they returned to the soup again, it was cold, but it was the best cold soup Viktor had ever eaten.

Apparently, this was his new post-competition routine. Lying in bed, lazily kissing Yuuri, and eating cold soup. It seemed like a strange one, but Viktor was happy to have it. And he was excited to go through it again at Europeans, where he hoped he'd surprise once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, yes, the injury is featured in this chapter.
> 
> Remember when I said I'd make my chapters shorter? Maybe after this one.

The All Japan Championship left nothing to be talked about, really. They'd long since gotten together a routine for when Yuuri performed, even more perfect because they were able to stay in Hasetsu for a few days before the competition (Yuuko graciously offered them access to the Ice Castle to train, and Yuuri snatched up the opportunity, happy to be home before such a big competition). Yuuri would skate first in the mornings, letting Viktor train him and help him work on his programs, messing around for a while after they had finished. Then, Yakov would call Viktor on Skype, and Yuuri would hold the computer for him while Viktor focused on his own training, happy for the time difference to make this easier.

The competition itself was exciting for Viktor. Yuuri was greeted with crowds of fans, more excited to see him than Viktor (well, most of them at least. There were a few who clung to the fact that they were in the presence of _Viktor Nikiforov_. Him talking nonstop about how well Yuuri was doing seemed to quickly shift their attentions to his fiancé, at least). Yuuri took dozens of pictures, smiling awkwardly for the camera, and Viktor felt his heart warming more and more each time.

As for the skating, his short program had a few faults in his nervous with such a familiar crowd and such familiar settings, but Viktor made sure to keep him completely isolated from those thoughts for the rest of the night so that he was able to skate a perfect free program, to the cheers and screams of the crowd (and the young blonde and red haired skater that had been such a fan at the Chugoku, Shikoku, and Kyushu Championship – Kenjirou Minami, Yuuri reminded him. He seemed _excited_ to lose to Yuuri, something that Viktor found endlessly endearing, especially when he stood below Yuuri at the medal ceremony).

Yuuri got a gold medal that day, and promptly broke into tears when he handed it off to Viktor (and, yes, Viktor kept his promise and kissed it. And then promptly kissed Yuuri, as well. Much more love for the skater than the medal). They stayed in Hasetsu for another few days after that, and Yuuri left his own medal with his family, where he'd also left his silver from the Grand Prix. One day, they'd move all of Yuuri's medals to Russia with them, but, for now, Viktor found it adorable that Yuuri kept them with his family.

And then the everyday routine resumed. They flew back to Russia and both immediately started training hard for their next major competitions – Yuuri with Four Continents and Viktor with Europeans. Europeans came first, and the competition approached after what felt like no time.

Being further away, Europeans had a much different routine than Nationals, even before Viktor had met Yuuri. They arrived a few days before the competition, got settled into their hotel. Viktor was whisked into Yakov's room with the rest of the Russian skaters, getting a rundown of their competition and what each of them had to do to stay on top in this conversation, but he mostly ignored it.

When he was done, he went back to his and Yuuri's room, which was empty. He'd left his phone in the room at Yakov's insistence, because he knew that Viktor would only get distracted at looking at who else had come to the competition, or texting Yuuri (which was why Yuuri wasn't allowed in the meeting. He'd _said_ that he was going to sit in their hotel room and call Phichit, but clearly that hadn't happened. Then again, Viktor had said that they'd take not even an hour, and they'd gone on for nearly two and a half, so he didn't blame Yuuri for leaving).

Upon grabbing his phone off of the bedside table where it was charging, Viktor smiled at the text that he was greeted with. Yuuri hadn't run off alone. ('Chris invited us to dinner with some other skaters – and demanded I hang out with him instead of sitting alone until you were done.' And a separate text with where he and Chris currently were).

Viktor texted Yuuri that he was on his way before grabbing his coat and wallet (as well as Yuuri's phone charger, because god knows he'd need it if they were out very late with Chris). Then again, they weren't really allowed to be out all that late with Chris, because Yakov would murder him if evidence surfaced of him slacking off or drinking before a competition. No, just good, clean, dinner with the competition.

And, for once, it was. Well, okay, it was fun. And it was good, and it was dinner. Clean was rarely an option when Chris was around, and Viktor found himself amused by the shocked faces of the younger skaters at the table. Yuri had come, much to Viktor's shock, but was sitting a few seats away from them, scrolling away on his phone instead of paying mind to any of the other skaters (but at least he'd made the effort to come out, that was what really mattered. Viktor had sort of thought he'd stay locked in his room all night).

This was a similar routine to what he'd used to have, as well. Often, before Yuuri, it had just been himself and Chris, leaving the rest of the skaters to do what they want, but since there were already three or four in their small group, Chris had decided that they might as well invite everyone. So, instead of a quick dinner with friends, it became an ordeal.

Yuuri kept himself tucked close to Viktor's side, as one of the few people there who wasn't a competitor (in this competition), but no one seemed to mind. After all, they were all a) perfectly aware of Viktor and Yuuri's relationship and b) just as aware of Yuuri's role as a competitor against them in other competitions. Not that anyone would really question Viktor bringing along a significant other. It was just… nice, this new routine. This routine of having Yuuri smile at Viktor's dumb jokes, and blush and Chris's insinuations. The routine of Yuri making disapproving noises from across the table, but making no move to leave. It was much better than being alone.

Dinner cleared up soon after they'd finished eating, most of the skaters going back to their respective hotel rooms, leaving just Yuri, Yuuri, Viktor and Chris at the table. They stayed a while longer, Yuri more active in the conversation now that they were more alone (Viktor couldn't help but smile again; Yuri was comfortable with them). After a while, Yakov angrily called Yuri's phone (because he knew that Viktor wouldn't bother answering and was hoping they were in the same place), demanding that they came back to the hotel and get some sleep.

Even though the competition wasn't the next day, Yuuri still laid at Viktor's side, murmuring about his anxieties. "Yuuri," Viktor finally cut him off, kissing him softly. "I'll be fine; I was last time! Remember, I'm Viktor Nikiforov. Unstoppable. And I've still got two days, think of what you want to do tomorrow, before the competition. Chris will probably join us for lunch, and Yakov may make us bring Yurio around, but most of the day is ours."

This seemed to calm Yuuri down, and he quickly fell asleep after that, curled up at Viktor's side.

It turned out the routine for a free day involved Yuuri _still_ waking up early ("Yakov will be angry if we mess up your sleep schedule, Viktor. Especially in _one day._ "). They both took showers, ate breakfast, got dressed, just moving in each other's space and being comfortable and happy, even in an unfamiliar hotel room. Yeah, Viktor fell even more in love every time he woke up with Yuuri.

He repeated the sentiment out loud, and his fiancé flushed bright red, burying his face against Viktor's chest from where he'd been leaning against him. "Let's walk around for a while." It was Yuuri's idea of changing the subject, apparently, and Viktor laughed. "We can invite Chris and Yurio to lunch, you should get to bed early. Competition tomorrow."

Viktor smiled at him, and nodded in agreement. "I'll text Chris. Get your coat on." He kissed him, grinning after he'd pulled away (especially since Yuuri had given in and kissed him back. Yes, he got tons of kisses from Yuuri, but that didn't mean that he wasn't allowed to smile at every single one).

They both get dressed for the cold and link hands, walking out into the cold. Much like their day before the Grand Prix Finals (another routine? When they have a break from competition, go out together and go sight-seeing? Viktor would be happy with that), they just wander around, popping into a few shops every so often to just see what was around.

Yuri and Chris showed up at the same time for lunch, another amiable meal like the night before, but, for Viktor, better. Better because he didn't have to talk to the rest of the skaters, he just had his friends here. Not that he had any problem with any of the other skaters, he knew that some of them were unbelievably kind, and he should get to know them better, but this was just so _good._

His small group of friends, so much bigger than it ever had been in the past. His best friend, Chris, who had been with him since god knows when. It was hard to remember sometimes that Chris had started more as a fan as a friend. After so many years competing together, Viktor completely understood what he'd meant when he said he was unmotivated without him. He couldn't imagine a season without Chris.

Yuri, his… rink mate, a family member in a way. They'd always worked together, but after this year, Viktor felt closer to Yuri, like he could take care of him. And, clearly, Yuri was comfortable with him.

And then there was Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri of Japan, now the undisputed best skater in Japan officially, and, also, the most amazing person on planet Earth (again, undisputed, Viktor would fight anyone who tried to tell him otherwise). His fiancé, the man he really should get around to marrying (Did the medal from Japan count as gold medal enough? Even only against Japanese skaters, it was gold, it should count! They should get married).

He had people in his life now that he could depend upon for a dumb joke or an eye roll or a fond smile.

When the day of the competition rolled around, Viktor was ready. He and Yuri had gone to the rink early with Yakov to get ready and warm up, make sure to make use of all of the time that they got on the rink. Yuuri'd shown up about halfway through their warmups, as he'd promised, standing off behind Yakov a little bit, not wanting to distract Viktor from what he was doing.

It was a different routine from Nationals, but it made sense. This competition was much different, with people from different countries, a few that Viktor had never seen before, and others that he knew were a definite threat to him if they skated to their best of their ability. Not to mention that Yuri was in competition with him once again, and he could not underestimate that threat.

He'd said it at the beginning, but it was even more true now: Yuri Plisetsky was an ever evolving monster. Before this season, Viktor's routine had barely involved watching the other skaters. He liked to see their programs, of course, but watching to make sure that he wouldn't be surpassed? It had never crossed his mind (Arrogance, Yakov reminded him, wasn't the best attitude for him to have. It didn't stop him). Yuri Plisetsky on the other hand?

Even during Nationals, it had been clear. Yuri and Viktor would have many competitions together, especially the important ones, and that meant that he had to watch him carefully, for any new component, for any way that he may be fighting harder than usual. And after he'd lost to Viktor last time, it was clear that he wasn't going to take his threat lightly, skating his short program to a perfection that shocked Viktor.

What shocked him more was the score. It was higher than he'd scored in their last competition together, and Viktor wasn't sure how to pull it off. He gnawed on his lip, watching the rest of the skaters, thinking. Yuuri was off to the side, talking to Chris (who had drawn the second to last spot), clearly about how proud he was of how Yuri'd done.

A few more skaters went, and Viktor's turn was drawing close, so Yuuri walked away from his conversation, coming to Viktor and resuming their new routine. He pressed his forehead against Viktor's, breathing calmly. "Ready?" Yuuri murmured and Viktor nodded, kissing his forehead before stepping away, handing his guards off to Yuuri and letting Yakov give his few comments before he started to skate.

Viktor skated out onto the ice, starting his program, zoning out all of the noises except for the sounds of his music, letting it carry him across the ice. To beat Yuri, he wouldn't be able to depend on his free program this time, not if he scored in the same range as the last time he performed this short program. If he'd performed it a few more times, maybe, but it was still brand new to competition, and he barely trusted himself to change the jump compositions yet, considering he hadn't even performed the original program perfectly yet.

So today had to be the day that he performed this program perfectly. And then make up what little he couldn't get here in his free program tomorrow. Yuri was going to beat him today, and he couldn't let him beat him the next day, too. The other competitors were close, too, and there were still so many to come, who could be _better_ (Chris, for one, had been at the GPF, and he knew that he'd push himself even harder for this skate, he'd had so long to perfect his programs).

The first jump went smoothly, and Viktor let the anxiety roll off of him. Why was he so anxious, when he was Viktor Nikiforov? There was nothing to be afraid of. Even if he didn't pull off gold in this competition, if he just did everything right, and made perfect scores, or nearly perfect, he could pull off at least silver. There was no way that he wasn't going to medal in this competition, no way that he wasn't going to be sent to Worlds for Russia.

The next jump came quickly, and Viktor took off easily, raising an arm, because he _had_ to gain those points that he might lose, and he knew that. He made the landing, if a little shaky, but that was _fine_. He could do this.

The end of his program was approaching, far past his halfway point. He took off for the next jump, and – _fuck_.

The silver-haired Russian legend (or whatever it was that presses were referring to him as. He was rather partial to the story that he'd read where they'd referred to him as "GPF Silver Medalist Katsuki Yuuri's Fiancé", that story had been cut out of the magazine, and tucked away where Yuuri wouldn't get embarrassed and make him get rid of it) felt his feet slip from beneath him, and his breath leave his chest. It was a feeling he'd had before, of course, but never this sharp, never like this.

Falling wasn't abnormal. Every good (and bad, especially bad, Viktor supposed) figure skater had fallen at least once in their life – to say that you had never fallen was blatantly a lie. Yes, even he, Viktor Nikiforov, had fallen while skating, and not just in practice. It didn't have to be a full tumble to the ice, but tripping, slipping, crashing, they happened to everyone.

The routine when someone fell in Russia was thus: someone (usually Yuuri, as Yuri took sick pleasure in pointing out) would miss his landing, they'd get up, they'd keep skating (and, if it was Yuuri or Viktor who fell, Yuri would call them names in that way that showed he was secretly concerned. It wasn't really a secret, but Viktor and Yuuri would let him believe it was). Everyone at the rink had been skating for years, so no one treated a fall as the end of the world. Sure, if Yuuri slipped, Viktor would be at his side in a second, but he was constantly reminded that was just because he was _Viktor._ When Viktor fell, Yuuri would pause, make sure he got up, and go back to skating. It was safe, it was routine.

That was falling in practice, though, and this was a competition. During a competition, you had to get up immediately, or you risked ruining your whole program, Viktor knew that. He pulled himself off of the ice, wincing at the movements, trying to pull himself into his next turn, and he succeeded, at first, much to the relief of the audience. The announcers were discussing his fall, like was their routine. He was fine, he could do this, he could finish his program

That was a fall worse than he'd taken, in a long time, maybe even ever. He could feel Yuuri's worried eyes on the back of his head, the announcers hypothesizing how he had been able to get back up after that. He was Viktor Nikiforov, though, he could do it. He could do anything. He regained a calmer breathing, continuing his program, trying to ignore the pain that shot up his leg when he lifted his foot from the ice. This was a bad fall, but he was fine. If it was as bad as it had looked, he wouldn't be able to still be skating. He was fine.

His last jump was a quad – he'd had to make a program that could contend Yuuri's stamina and Yuri's drive. Especially now that he'd taken such a hard fall, he knew that he had a lot of points to make up, and he couldn't risk saving them all to try to make up tomorrow. His ankle was still screaming at him, but it would be fine, he'd just hit the nerves. He'd ice it tonight, and he'd be ready for the free skate the next day. He could still do this; he could pull it off.

He considered cutting the jump, after that fall that he'd taken, but he couldn't. Cutting that jump would put him in at least third of everyone who had already gone, if not lower, and there were still so many to come, and Viktor _would not_ lose this competition. He had to keep in the jump. It had just been a fall, he'd be fine!

The jump. Viktor breathed out his anxieties, picking up his momentum before leaving the ice. 1 – 2 – 3 –4, the jump was perfect, now he just had to land, hit his final pose, and he'd be –

A cry of pain escaped his mouth before he processed that his body had hit the ice again, his foot twisting beneath him again, at an angle he knew was definitely not supposed to happen. He covered his mouth, hearing the music come to a conclusion, the natural conclusion, where he should be hitting a pose, smiling and waving at the crowd. Instead, the best he could do was push his foot out from underneath him, letting out a noise no one could hear over the shock of the crowd and announcers when he moved. He pressed his forehead against his thigh, trying to breathe.

"Viktor!" He heard the worried cry, knew it was from Yuuri, but he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't do anything about… well, anything, except lay on the ice, putting his head between his legs. Sharp pain was shooting through his leg, at this point, the announcers had fallen silent, before picking up, questioning what was going on. He couldn't hear their voices, not when the panic started to fill him, and he once again pushed himself up, catching Yuuri's worried look from the side of the ice, where Yuri was holding his arm, probably to keep him from running on after him.

Good. The last thing that he needed was for both of them to end up injured from this.

Injured. Oh, god, that's what this was, wasn't it? It couldn't be, he was _Viktor Nikiforov_. He saw the crews coming to the edge of the rink, and shakily rose back to his feet, causing the audience and the announcers to silence. The very idea of putting weight on his foot made him want to scream, but he bit his tongue, pausing for a few seconds to get his bearings, before skating. Well… it was barely able to be called skating, really.

He pulled himself to the side of the rink, ignoring any offers of help, stepping off of the ice, where Yuuri immediately had an arm around his waist, leading him to the bench there, helping his skates off. Viktor had started shaking at some point, blinking faster, to keep out tears. Not tears of pain, no matter how much it hurt, he knew to brush off the pain, how to get back up and keep skating.

But that was the routine for when he fell. When he fell, he got up, he skated. He performed, and he took the points that he could get, knowing that he would have to do better the next day, or the next competition.

Injuries were a whole different story.

He could tell he wasn't going to be able to skate the next day, with how little he could put weight on his foot, with how hurt he could tell he was. Trying not to worry Yuuri, he reached down to help him, getting the skate off and looking at his foot beneath. He could feel the camera crews moving in on them, and it was in that moment that Viktor understood Yuuri's anxieties more than ever. Here he was, trying to figure out the extent of what had just happened, and they were closing in, talking.

He pressed a hand against his ankle after Yuuri had gotten the skate off, wincing at the immediate pain that flashed through his body. People were coming toward him, they had a routine too. For when skaters fell, for when they got injured. Viktor turned his head away, turning away from the cameras, and the crowds, and anyone else who may come anywhere near him, and the tears started to fall.

He was Viktor Nikiforov. He'd taken a season off to coach and to fall in love – both with Katsuki Yuuri, and back in love with the ice. He'd come back to take a gold medal at his first competition, blowing everyone (except for Yuri) out of his way with his scores, easily falling back into the place where he had been before, at the top.

Falling. Well, that took a whole new literal meaning, didn't it? He felt Yuuri's arms around him, trying to calm him down, but it was too late. His shoulders were shaking with the tears now.

He couldn't just sit here, he knew that. Viktor looked up at Yuuri, felt the cameras close in on his tears, and murmured, "We should probably get this checked."

The look on Yuuri's face was one that Viktor had never wanted to see – pure _fear_. He knew that Viktor would never admit to his injury if it wasn't something that he thought that he could handle, so that Viktor was asking for help, asking to check his injury, it meant that Yuuri had to know just how bad it felt. And, it did. Viktor didn't even want to think about putting weight onto that foot, it felt so awful. Yuuri covered his mouth, tears falling from his eyes, nodding his head, reaching for his phone, but it was pushed out of his hand immediately.

"Yakov already has someone coming." Yuri glared at the two of them, his arms crossed over his chest, track jacket pulled over his costume from when he'd already skated (and his score, Viktor knew, was one that was going to get him far; definitely on the podium). "You shouldn't have gotten up." He shoved Viktor's shoulder, and Viktor was shocked to see tears in the younger skater's eyes. Yes, he knew, deep down, that Yuri cared about himself and Yuuri, but – had he been that worried?

"I could finish skating – "

"Clearly you couldn't, idiot! Had you stopped then, you would have had a chance of coming back tomorrow! Now look at you! You're pathetic! You probably broke your damn foot, and who the fuck knows if you're going to skate again!" Yuri shoved him again, and Yuuri grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Think positively, Yurio, you were right! I won't beat you today!" Viktor tried to make a joke.

He had never seen Yuri look more murderous, which was really saying something, because between Mila doing it on purpose and Yuri seeming to have a personal vendetta against most of what Viktor said, he'd seen some pretty murderous looks. "This isn't what I meant, and you know it, you ass!"

He said something more, and Yuuri responded, their voices quickly growing heated, but Viktor couldn't hear the argument that broke out between the two of them as Yakov walked over with the people that had been called in, helping Viktor to stand and leave the rink, leaning heavily against one of the doctors as he was taken out to a private room, not letting him put any weight on his foot.

Who knows if you're going to be able to skate again. Yuri's words banged around in his head as the doctors examined his foot, Yakov to the side looking pensive and upset (t was in this moment that Viktor let out a grateful sigh that all of the Russian skaters had already gone. His injury wouldn't take Yakov's attention away from Georgi or Yuri, and there was still time before the women went on). The doctors were speaking, and Viktor tried to pay attention, he really did, but he saw Yakov's face sour more, shaking his head. Yuuri covered his mouth with his hand, and Viktor let his head fall back against the bed, trying to imagine what they could be saying.

For Yakov to react like that, it had to be bad. He'd looked near at the edge of tears (and it was so rare that Yakov was moved to such a point, but he and Viktor had been together for so long now. He was like another father figure for Viktor, and he knew what this meant).

"… fracture…" It was the first word that Viktor picked up, and his heart felt like it stopped when he heard it, pulling himself up into a sitting position, focusing on their conversation.

"Recovery time can vary," The main physician was saying, and Viktor held his breath. "Six weeks is the lowest estimate we can give, but it could be up to eight, or more, if he pushes it too much." Six to eight weeks. They weren't going to let him have a position for Worlds if they thought he might not be healed by then, and six to eight weeks meant that was probably the case.

Was this serious? Had he come back to the world of figure skating for one competition just to be forcibly ripped from it without another chance?

"We can take him to an emergency room, get it set. He'll need crutches, a boot, if not casts. I'd recommend the rest of the season off," Another was saying, and Viktor felt his tears welling back up. "He's probably fine to coach Katsuki, but he can't step a foot onto that ice, definitely shouldn't put on skates." His coaching with Yuuri had always been so hands on, how was he supposed to do it now? And _crutches_?

"Thank you." Yakov, stepping forward to rest a hand against Viktor's forehead (Viktor, who immediately pretended to be asleep, to be hiding from the hellhole of a world that was surrounding him). "We'll do that, and release a statement tomorrow, once we're sure how he will be. It will be ultimately up to him next season, but Viktor is done for this season."

Again, he could hear Yuri's words, and a quiet sob escaped his mouth, unable to hold up the act, especially when Yakov turned a pitying look his way, and Yuuri grasped one of his hands. He knew what that meant, that it was up to him what would happen next season. Yakov wouldn't say it to these people, not when he still had to finish getting checked up, but he may never be able to skate again. Ever. That was what Yakov meant - Viktor Nikiforov may be gone from the figure skating world forever. He would be twenty-nine next year, when was the last time there was a twenty-nine-year-old World Champion?

What was life without skating?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uncreatively, I titled my document I'm working on this in 'yoi'. I am, in fact, working on an au as well (a mermaid au, stay tuned, probably getting started soon; I have an outline done), so this is very confusing.
> 
> It took forever (... you know, a week) because school. RIP me.

The morning after the injury had been bad. First, Viktor hadn't slept well because of the strange weight of the splints on his leg, and the dull pain that throbbed through him no matter how much of the pain medication that the doctor had given them he took. Not to mention the talking to he'd gotten from Yakov ("You knew in your first fall that something was wrong, you should not have pushed yourself _harder_ , Viktor! Now look what you've done!" And other similar threats, though at the look of pain and misery in Viktor's eyes, he'd stopped. "Get some rest, Vitya. Let Yuuri take care of you." Which cemented another point, you know, that Yakov secretly loved Viktor's fiancé) had left him with a small headache (though the tears may have aided that as well).

And then, if _that_ wasn't bad enough, his twitter and Instagram notifications were blowing up so much that he had to disable notifications from both apps to make sure that he and Yuuri got _any_ sleep that night. Fans and the media alike were questioning what had happened. Because he'd injured himself on live television, in the middle of a performance, and said nothing about it since. For all they knew, he'd be back the next day, just something quick and easy to fix. Or, they may be hypothesizing the worst, like, career ending. Then again, this might be career ending. He didn't know yet.

He refused to watch back the footage, but he had no doubt they'd zoomed in on his face. His face of terror and utter misery, as the ugliest tears someone could cry streamed down. They probably showed Yuuri, Yuri, and Yakov, too, their shocked faces on the side of the rink. Did someone post a picture of Viktor's ugly uncontrolled crying _after_ he realized what was happening (not just on the ice)? Did anyone catch any part of their conversations? What had they posted? Maybe there were sweet get better messages mixed in, but… he feared the worst.

Which led to the third thing that made the morning bad – he couldn't stop thinking about it. Not necessarily about the injury, he could do nothing about that, but about what people were thinking. What would they say? Were the people who had told him not to return to the sport laughing now? Should he have already released a statement to put worried fans out of their terror? Should he just pretend nothing had happened? (The last obviously not being a viable choice considering the _crutches_ ).

And then to add insult to injury, or whatever fucking phrase might properly explain the shitstorm that had been their morning, Viktor had gotten anxious and snapped at Yuuri. It had started with a completely innocent conversation, the kind of thing they had a routine for. Yuuri had woken up before Viktor, gotten ready silently, letting him sleep, because he no doubt knew how restless Viktor had been all night. When Viktor woke up, Yuuri gave him the prescribed main medication, running his fingers through his hair.

Yuuri insisted on going for the free programs. "Viktor, don't you want to see how everyone does? We'll walk in separately, if you want, from Yakov and Yuri. We can have dumb disguises. We'll make sure no one knows if you're that worried."

"How would we even disguise ourselves at this point, Yuuri? A Japanese man and a man walking with crutches walk into a figure skating competition where the world's top skater who's engaged to a Japanese man injured himself the day before. Good luck _not_ guessing who we are." He tried to keep the harsh tone from his voice, but he couldn't help himself, snapping a little. Viktor had refused disguises, because the world was going to find out eventually; Yakov was planning on announcing his diagnosis at the press conference after everything had finished here. Maybe the worst part was that he didn't feel bad about it. He didn't feel good, but he didn't want to take it back.

Yuuri stayed quiet for a second, grabbing hold of a pair of socks, next his shoes. "Then we walk in together, with them. No one's going to be upset about you coming, Viktor, or about the crutches. We all saw how hard you fell yesterday, if anything, they'll be happy to see you on your feet at all!" He was trying to soothe him, he knew, but Yuuri's words just pissed Viktor off more.

"This isn't on my feet! This is useless, on crutches! I don't want to go!" Maybe he was being petulant, but Viktor didn't care. He wanted to go home, to St. Petersburg. He wanted to curl up in his bed with Yuuri and with Makkachin, and he wanted everything to go back to normal. He didn't want people to be excited to see him on fucking _crutches_.

"Then don't go! I never said you had to." After the initial phrase had nearly been shouted, Yuuri's voice quieted, looking… ashamed of himself? Why the hell would Yuuri be ashamed? Because he snapped at Viktor? No, Yuuri should be yelling at Viktor like Yakov had, should be telling him how dumb he was, how he fucked up, how he _may never skate again_. Instead, Yuuri just looked sad because he'd yelled at him.

"You said you were going," Viktor reminded, because Yuuri was _wrong_. He had said that they were going.

" _I_ am going." When the words were repeated, it dawned on Viktor that he had just automatically assumed that since one of them was going, the other had to. Yuuri sighed, walking back over to the bed (where Viktor had sat up and hung one leg over the edge, not wanting to move the next, in fear of pain), and sitting down at his side, pressing his face against Viktor's shoulder. "You can stay back. No one would be upset with that, either. Yakov's probably handling the press, too, already. You got hurt yesterday, Viktor. You're allowed to be upset and want nothing to do with ice skating today. I know you'll still watch Yurio and Chris, at least, on a stream, even if you stay back."

Viktor sniffled, and was horrified to find that he was crying _again_. He couldn't remember the last time that he had cried before yesterday (well, okay, putting aside the night of the Grand Prix Final), but now it felt like every breath that he took, more tears came with it. "I'll go."

"Viktor – " Why was he fighting with him now!? Did he want Viktor to go or not?

"Yuuri, I'm going!" These words were really truly snapped, to the point that Yuuri froze where he was tying up his shoes to stare at Viktor, and more tears immediately fell from Viktor's eyes in misery of making that fear creep into his fiancé's face. Yuuri stared for a moment longer, looking torn, and Viktor wished he knew his thoughts, but when Yuuri walked right over and wrapped his arms around him and let him break down again, he didn't care.

They called Yakov after another short talk, saying that they were coming later in the day, after the practice had started, because Viktor finally admitted to not wanting to walk in with the other skaters. Yuuri said some other things to Yakov, but they were too quiet for Viktor to hear, especially over the rustle of getting ready.

Putting on clothes for the day, he had to open the bag where his free program costume was located, and he just barely stopped from crying again, because it didn't matter. He didn't get to wear it, didn't get to show everyone who he was, who he had become. It was stuck in that bag, worn once and retired. Would he be allowed to wear it again if he came back next season? It really was beautiful. Maybe he and Yuuri could do another skate together, he could wear it then…

You know, if he was allowed to skate again. He managed to get all the way ready on his own, and Yuuri had packed a bag of things they'd need that day, smiling over at him. At least there was that, Yuuri was still smiling at him. Yuuri didn't hate him for getting hurt (an irrational train of thought, but one he'd had last night when he'd looked at Yuuri wrapped up in their shared blanket, sleeping soundly). Yuuri loved him, Viktor Nikiforov or just Viktor, as he showed when he walked over to him and (blushing) gave him a kiss.

"You'll be fine. If they ask questions, just ignore them. I've already talked to Yakov, and he's informed that no one should ask until the press conference. Plus, if they have any decency, they'll keep their distance." He kissed him again, and Viktor calmed down in the touches, knowing again that half of Yuuri's reassurances were for himself (he still liked that they were voiced out loud). "You're still Viktor Nikiforov. You made a dumb mistake, and you got hurt, but that could have happened whether you tried that jump or not. And if you want to come back next season, you'll wow the judges again."

They were quiet for a while, Yuuri resting against him while Viktor traced patterns and Russian words into Yuuri's arm with his fingers. After a few more kisses, they were nearly ready to go, and Yuuri turned to Viktor one more time. "And if you don't come back next season, they won't forget you. And you'll just have to wow them through me." He turned bright red, burying his head against Viktor's shoulder. "I also talked to Yakov about coaching. I want you to be my coach if you want to be, but if you don't want to come to the rink, or aren't up to it, he said he'd do it."

Well, that explained at least a little of what Yakov and Yuuri's conversation had been about (and also backed up Viktor's knowledge that Yakov loved his fiancé). He didn't know what he wanted to do about coaching yet. He loved coaching Yuuri, and wanted Yuuri to do his best, but he trusted Yakov if he couldn't do it. And was glad that Yuuri did too. He just nodded, and Yuuri stood, taking his hand for a second before grabbing the crutches instead, handing them off. Viktor sighed. Right. No hand-holding when all of your attention had to be on the crutches. Great.

The crutches were by far the worst part. He had never used crutches before, and he hated them with a burning passion. Yuuri was carrying the bag with their wallets and their phones (as well as pain medication that the doctor had recommended). He and Yuuri had gone alone to the emergency room the day before, where they'd splinted his leg, telling Yuuri everything he'd need to know, because that had been at the point where Viktor had been in the most pain, and they'd given him medication. So now, here he was. Viktor Nikiforov, world champion figure skating superstar, the most decorated athlete currently in the sport, struggling with his crutches while his fiancé walked nervously at his side.

No one was trying to interview them, which was great, but he could still feel the press of cameras, hear the small clicks as they walked down the hall to their seats, far away from where Viktor should be. He tried not to hang his head, but struggled (less out of shame and more out of having to watch where he placed the crutches. They were a pain). At least he wasn't crying any more. That was… you know, some sort of positive?

Everyone in the figure skating world knew that Viktor Nikiforov lived to surprise his audiences. Whether it be a new turn or jump, a completely unique theme, a frowned upon costume (or, you know, kissing the man he loved during a live, televised competition), it was what fueled his passion. The shock in the announcer's voices, "Viktor Nikiforov, once again, has attempted something never before done in the history of figure skating!" or "Viktor Nikiforov breaks yet another world record." or "And, ladies and gentlemen, that's five times. You are looking at a figure skating legend, five-time World Champion here."

Hearing his name in that tone of voice never got old, because that meant that someone was enjoying his performance, it meant that he was doing something right with his figure skating. He _inspired_ when people said his name like that, inspired people like Yuuri. Yuuri, one of his biggest fans and a figure skater himself, his fiancé, had been inspired by how much Viktor shocked the announcers, how much he appeared to love the sport.

He had so many fans like Yuuri. The gasped little whispers when they went out near competitions ("Is that Viktor Nikiforov?" or, "Oh my god, no, you have to ask him!" or, more recently, "Do you think they'll both be in the picture?" or, "Did you see Yuuri walk in, do you think Viktor's here?") always brought joy to his heart, and he'd never deny a fan an autograph or a picture, no matter how draining it got quickly. He'd lost count of how many little boys or girls had grabbed onto his hands and told him that _he_ was the reason they were figure skating. Or, even, that his passion for his own sport inspired them to do something else they loved. To be the Viktor Nikiforov of whatever they loved.

They finally reached their seats, and Viktor set his crutches to the side, taking Yuuri's hand, and Yuuri smiled at him. They sat peacefully for a while, watching the warmups be completed, and Viktor grabbed his phone, finally turning it on.

He tried to ignore the headlines ("What happened to Viktor Nikiforov?" and "Coach Yakov Feltsman says nothing of Nikiforov's fall, but skater himself does not arrive with team" and "Viktor Nikiforov not skating free program in European Championship" and, of course "Viktor Nikiforov falls twice during short program at Europeans WWATCH VIDEO HERE"), tried to ignore the Instagram notifications, and that his name was trending on Twitter, as was #ViktorNikiforovFall (a whole day later seemed like overkill, but it must have picked back up with free programs starting soon). Yuuri seemed to notice what he was looking at and sighed, resting his head on his shoulder.

He got past the news stories after a little while, able to actually see his friend's feeds, smiling as he scrolled through, and feeling Yuuri relax next to him. It was making them both upset, clearly, and he didn't want that.

They were able to happily look through their phones until the free programs started, and as the first skater took the ice, of course one of the first things that was discussed was what happened to Viktor. He was sure that in all of the streams and televised versions of the events, they were playing clips of it, clips Viktor didn't want to see. He wasn't going to watch over that video, not while he was injured. Maybe not ever, depending on whether or not he came back to skating. Yuuri squeezed his arm softly, and Viktor sighed, turning to smile gently to his fiancé, trying to ignore what they were saying.

Not to downplay, you know, fracturing his foot, but it wasn't even the worst injury he could have gotten, and Viktor knew that. With a six to eight-week recovery time, he could almost argue to be allowed back in for the last competitions of the season (if he didn't think Yuuri would kill him and if he was selfish enough to sabotage other competitors who actually deserved those spots).

Of course, the announcers didn't know what had happened yet. They were probably hypothesizing – whether it was a sprain, a fracture, or something worse, like, god forbid, shattering one of his bones, or tearing his ACL, or something. They just knew that Viktor Nikiforov had fallen, and had been whisked away by medical teams the day before. They knew that he'd withdrawn from this competition, and had to speculate if he'd be back at all this season.

At this point, they'd seen him on crutches, too. They knew that he was in the building, but he was injured enough to need crutches, and to be hidden in the stands instead of performing on the ice. So what better was there to do in the passing time between competitors than discuss Viktor Nikiforov's injury ("Yuri Plisetsky, from Russia took gold at his first Grand Prix Final as a senior, and silver at Nationals, only behind Nikiforov. Considering Viktor's out for this competition, we can probably expect that Plisetsky will win gold no problem here, and be an easy pick for Russia to send to Worlds." or "Now that Nikiforov is out of the picture, there's a good chance that he has a shot at the podium.").

Apparently, they'd scored the part of Viktor's program that he'd performed the day before, but it didn't matter. Even if it was his best score ever (which it wasn't, at all. It was by far his worst in recent years, probably taking him back to Juniors for the last time he had a score so low, between his falls and hurt footwork), it didn't matter. He would be in last place for this competition.

And after the competition was over, after Yuri had claimed his gold medal (with a pissed off look in his face, in interviews he muttered, "This isn't a real win since Viktor got hurt." and Viktor almost cried because that was the most sentimental Yuri had been about this), Yakov finally gave that press conference, and announced what had happened to Viktor. Viktor and Yuuri were there, but said nothing, Viktor seated next to Yakov with his injured foot elevated on another chair, and Yuuri standing behind him, resting his arms against his shoulders to try to breathe and stay calm with what was happening.

In that press conference came out the news that Viktor Nikiforov had a shocking headline for this season, too: "Viktor Nikiforov fractured leg in fall during short program – forced to take rest of season off" and "Nikiforov will not compete at any more competitions this season" and "Will he continue as Katsuki's coach? Nikiforov injured" and "Coach Yakov Feltsman announces end of season for Viktor Nikiforov" and, maybe worst of all, "Is this the end of Viktor Nikiforov?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to go back to Russia next chapter, yay! And then I imagine 1-2 more after that (but, knowing me, that means at least 3). My exams are over for a week, so probably updating again soon! Also, as I said, stay tuned for that mermaid au (... those... mermaid... au.... s. plural).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when my distraction that kept me from this wasn't even the mermaid au but a bunch of other ideas. And schoolwork. Always schoolwork.
> 
> Also, omg, thank you so much for all of the kudos, and comments, and bookmarks, like wow, last chapter boomed out of nowhere and I am so thankful for your support, that was super amazing exciting, thank you. 
> 
> I researched the figure skating season extensively before starting this fic and, admittedly, am taking some creative license when it comes to how much time is between competitions (and the fact that Yuuri got to come with Viktor everywhere, shhh) – the schedule of actual events compared to canon seems a little different anyway, and why not build my angst where I can (not that i need extra opportunities to build angst, they find me anyway)?
> 
> me @ myself: you don't know how dogs work pls cut down the makkachin section  
> also me @ myself: you don't need to mention literally every relevant skater that comes to four continents just give a quick overview
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [yoyoplisetsky](https://yoyoplisetsky.tumblr.com/) (yoi side blog) or [cary-onmywaywardson](https://cary-onmywaywardson.tumblr.com/).

Honestly, thank god that Viktor was allowed to fly back to Russia right after the competition. He'd been worried with his injury that the plane wouldn't let him on or something (he _may have_ been doing some late night research that led him to the worst of results that if he flew on a plane while he was injured he'd probably die, or something similar. Yuuri called the airport for him, and they said he was safe to fly).

Another good thing about the plane (the first being that he finally got to go home. He'd never wanted to go back to Russia so badly after a competition) was that he had an excuse to turn off his phone and pretend like he didn't even have it. His phone hadn't stopped ringing since they had announced that he was off for the season – texts from friends, from media outlets, from sponsors. Twitter and Instagram notifications beyond anything he'd ever had before of fans wishing him better; his name was probably trending again but he didn't bother looking.

This wasn't the news that he'd wanted going into this season. He'd wanted the attention of shocking

everyone to a perfect season. Or even a near-perfect season (Yuuri winning gold at Worlds would be nice. Or even Yurio. Both of them scoring above him? Would he settle for bronze for them? Of course, he wouldn't have _tried_ to lose, but it was possible either or both of them could have beaten him…).

Yakov had tried to ban him from his phone and social media and all those news stories, but Viktor had thrown a fit (and even Viktor would admit to calling what he did a fit. He was the smallest bit embarrassed by it after it had happened, but he didn't want to take back the main point so he just… pretended like it didn't happen). The argument had started just with Yakov trying to do what was best for Viktor, because he was stressing himself out and upsetting himself by reading a bunch of stories speculating whether or not he could ever return to doing what he loved and whether or not he'd be able to coach his fiancé. That just escalated and escalated until Viktor finally snapped that if he wasn't skating, then Yakov wasn't his coach, so he wasn't allowed to boss him around.

Yakov had _almost_ looked shocked at how angry Viktor had gotten, and that just caused Viktor to cry when he finally was alone with Yuuri again. Anyone who'd met Viktor since his injury would think that he was someone that cried at the drop of a hat, but he _wasn't_. That was Yuuri. Yuuri was the one that cried at sad movies, and even Yuri could sometimes be seen trying to sneakily wipe away tears before huffing off to the guest bedroom (alternate label: Yuri's Bedroom), pretending like it had never happened. Viktor just… didn't. Maybe it was because he'd been yelled at for crying on the ice as a kid (and off the ice), maybe it was because he just… didn't like crying. But either way, that was thrown on its head in the stress of his injury.

At least they were going back to Russia now. As usual, Yuuri fell asleep on the plane, his head pressed against Viktor's shoulder, hands twined together between them. Yuuri. Sweet, perfect Yuuri who was more supportive in this than Viktor could have dreamed. He was the one that took away Viktor's phone when he saw him getting stressed, but he did it in a way that didn't immediately piss Viktor off like Yakov did. He was the one that just laid against him while he cried, not trying to get him to stop.

Honestly, how was Yuuri Katsuki so perfect?

The plane ride wasn't terribly long, and Viktor found himself shaking Yuuri awake far too soon, the Japanese man blinking tiredness out of his eyes, rolling them fondly when Viktor immediately kissed him. Across the aisle, someone (It was Yuri. He didn't try to deny it, because it was obvious.) made a gagging noise, and Yuuri's face lit up in a blush.

Getting off the plane was a nuisance, having to get his crutches up the row, Yuuri behind him, looking slightly worried but not saying anything because he didn't want to worry Viktor. They were both wearing hats and sunglasses in fear of who may be at the airport, but it would still be clear if they looked hard enough.

Once they got their luggage, Yuri got in a different cab than them, and Viktor frowned. "I thought he was spending the night."

"Viktor, we've been gone for days. He probably wants to go back home, not to our place." Yuuri set their bags down, and sat next to Viktor, who continued to frown out the window.

"Sometimes he comes home with me after big competitions. I make him dinner." Viktor _knew_ that he was moping, but he didn't care. How dare Yuri upset his precious routine when Viktor was already so far out of it?

"He didn't come home with you after Nationals." Yuuri reminded, raising an eyebrow, clearly trying to figure out what was going through Viktor's head. And, honestly, that thought had totally slipped Viktor's mind, which only intensified the frown.

"He lost Nationals to me. He probably didn't want to talk to me that night." Viktor gasped, apparently coming to another conclusion. "Is it because he's competing against us now? Is it because you live with me? He has a room always ready for him, he doesn't have to be worried that you'll take his space. He could bring his cat. And his grandpa." Viktor watched the buildings they passed, getting closer and closer to their apartment. "He doesn't need to worry if its' because he's competing against me. It's not like I'm doing much competing now."

Luckily, they got back to their apartment before Yuuri could come up with a proper response, and his fiancé got out of the car first, grabbing Viktor's crutches and reaching out to give him a hand, which Viktor ignored because he didn't need help to get out of a car. He pulled himself forward, struggling for a few seconds before taking the crutches, leaning on them heavily, but still successful.

Just because he was injured didn't mean he needed help with his everyday life. Yuuri frowned at him, a small frown that Viktor couldn't read into. Was he upset that Viktor wasn't letting him help? Was he worried about Viktor? They walked up to the apartment in silence, Viktor flopping down onto the couch as soon as they were up there, setting his crutches against it (another thing he had to learn to work into his routine: making sure he put his crutches somewhere he could easily reach).

Viktor didn't make eye contact when he finally admitted, "You should probably pick Makkachin up alone." As much as he wanted to go with Yuuri to pick up his dog, he didn't want to take the risk of Makkachin getting excited and not understanding that the dog couldn't pounce Viktor. Plus, even though Makkachin was only staying with a downstairs neighbor (a few years ago, they'd volunteered to watch the poodle when Viktor went to competitions. Viktor was close enough to them to agree that was a good place for Makkachin to stay, much better than having to drag him to a kennel), Viktor didn't want to have to walk again so quickly after having settled on the couch.

Yuuri had just walked back into the main area from their bedroom where he'd been putting their bags down, and he blinked in surprise. "Okay." He seemed calm, and Viktor was thankful for that, watching him grab his wallet (his neighbors didn't ask for payment, but Viktor still gave them some. And sometimes brought them some food or a small souvenir from wherever he'd been. This time, it was a snow globe, which he saw Yuuri already had in one of his hands).

Before Yuuri was out the door, Viktor spoke up again, "We should just order take out tonight."

"Are you sure?" Because Yuuri _knew_ his routine. He knew that after his competitions, Viktor liked to make something, and liked to lay around eating it and calming down. But this hadn't been a real competition, and Viktor didn't want that.

"I don't want to cook." He turned away (but not fast enough to completely miss Yuuri's confused frown). He didn't understand, and Viktor didn't expect him to.

"Okay. I'll get us something before I get Makkachin." Yuuri walked over to the couch, kissing Viktor's forehead, and while Viktor loved that Yuuri was initializing the touches, it still felt bittersweet, because at least part of that _had_ to be from pity. Pity of how awful it was clear that Viktor was doing. He didn't want pity.

It took nearly an hour for Yuuri to come back, and Viktor tried not to be upset about that. He knew that his neighbors would want to talk to his fiancé, and Yuuri _also_ had to get food, and so it would take a while, but he wanted Yuuri back. Flipping through his phone, he only bothered looking at the texts from his friends, because the rest of it was stuff that he didn't want to deal with at the moment. He texted them all back how he was doing (though Chris got the most honest answer of Viktor feeling awful and never wanting to move from his couch again).

That only took up the first half an hour that Yuuri was gone, though. For the rest of the time, Viktor gave in and opened Instagram. He liked a few get-well messages from fans, not because he wanted to, necessarily, but his fans were sweet, and he didn't want to act ungrateful toward them. Plus, Yakov would probably be happy that Viktor wasn't totally moping, and doing a little bit that could be twisted into a good story (and, yes, Viktor felt bad for snapping at Yakov. The man had done way too much for him for Viktor to push him away like that. He'd make him lunch for their next practice or something).

And then, finally, Yuuri was home. As soon as the door opened, Viktor couldn't help but brighten some, because the reason that Yuuri was gone for so long was that he'd gone out of his way to get Viktor's favorite take out, even though there were so many places much closer to the apartment that he could have gotten. Viktor smiled at Yuuri, who looked relieved to see him sitting up, not still curled up in misery. "I'm gonna go put Makkachin's stuff away and grab some plates. Do you want to eat out there or at the table?"

It wasn't pity. No, not even that kiss earlier had been pity. It was just _Yuuri_ , knowing how hard it was, and trying his best to be amazing for Viktor (and Viktor was beyond touched for that). "I can go to the table." Even though he didn't want to move, he knew that Yuuri liked to eat at a normal setting when they could, and his fiancé was already doing so much for him, Viktor would walk to the table.

"Okay. I'll also grab you some more medication from the bathroom to take after dinner." Yuuri smiled at him, disappearing off to put Makkachin's stuff away, leaving just Viktor and his dog.

Makkachin was very happy to see him. The poodle ran from the doorway up onto the couch, and Viktor was just glad that he'd shifted enough that Makkachin wouldn't have to lay on his legs. Instead, with his leg propped up on the coffee table in front of him, Makkachin was in his lap, giving him kisses all over his face. And here was a good part of his routine that he couldn't lose, no matter what. Makkachin was there, whether Yuuri was or not, whether Yuri was or not, whether he'd won or lost. His dog didn't care, didn't know that Viktor was having the worst week of his _entire_ life (that could have been an exaggeration. Maybe a little one. Maybe not, though. It was pretty awful).

No, what his dog knew was that Viktor had been gone for _a long time_ and that meant that cuddles were absolutely necessary. Viktor buried his face in his dog's fur, giving all the pets and scratches Makkachin could possibly need, and immediately feeling at least a little better. He had his dog and he had Yuuri. That was pretty good.

Actually eating and going to bed was uneventful, but the next day, Yuuri had to practice because Four Continents were coming up (very, very soon). The morning routine started the same way it did every day, but Yuuri looked a little hesitant as he grabbed his bag, Viktor already ready, sitting on the couch petting Makkachin.

"You can stay home if you want to." Yuuri finally spoke up, and Viktor looked at him in confusion.

"Do you want me to?" His fiancé had brought up more than once that Viktor didn't have to coach him now that he was injured, that Yakov had volunteered, that he'd be fine if Viktor chose to stay home, and he didn't understand. Was he worried about Viktor getting onto the ice? If it hurt to put weight on his foot at all, there was no way that Viktor was daring to put on a skate or go on the ice. Was he worried about Viktor being sad?

That one… a little more valid a concern. Viktor didn't _really_ want to go to the ice rink where he should be training for Worlds, not after so long willingly off. That was much different. A few stories had brought that up, that Viktor probably had it better because he'd already taken time off of the sport to coach Yuuri, but he'd done that _willingly_. Viktor had wanted to go back to skating when he came back, so not being able to now was much harder than when he'd quit to go to Yuuri.

"No – I mean – I just – " Yuuri shrugged, motioning vaguely to Viktor's crutches, and then glancing to the ground, looking worried. Like he wasn't allowed to bring up the thing that was right in front of them.

"I'll be fine. I've still got you on the ice. Now you just have to win for me!" Viktor smiled brightly, trying to bring up his enthusiasm he'd had when he started coaching Yuuri (it wasn't that he wasn't enthusiastic, just… Viktor liked being on the ice. He wouldn't be doing this if he didn't).

Yuuri smiled (a nervous smile, one he always had when it came to surpassing Viktor, even though he _already had_ and Viktor was so incredibly proud of him and Yuri for beating the records it now looked like he'd never get back). "I'll do my best."

Viktor balanced on his crutches, walking to the door and kissing Yuuri, who let him with no argument, because they didn't have to be to the rink unreasonably early. They were on their own schedule, no one else depended on them being there. Unfortunately for Viktor, who would normally take an opportunity like this to kiss Yuuri for _hours_ , he could only balance on his crutches for so long, and pulled away way too soon after he'd come up to him.

"I called us a cab to the rink." Yuuri's voice was soft, Viktor almost didn't pick up on it. He frowned at first when he did, because they always walked to the rink together, they were so close, that was why Viktor had gotten this –

Oh. Right. He hadn't tried to go very far on his crutches yet, but he was still struggling with them, a lot. Yuuri knew this, Viktor had complained about the crutches more than once to his fiancé (yes, in the few days he'd had them). Yuuri had gotten them a ride so they wouldn't have to struggle all the way to the rink.

Viktor smiled a little bitterly (now he was messing up _Yuuri_ 's routine), but Yuuri didn't seem upset. Instead, they walked down together and got into the car (where Viktor got a few more kisses, so, he supposed, that made up for it a little bit).

When they got to the rink, Viktor sat on a bench on the edge of the rink while letting Yuuri warm up (he didn't need to coach him through that, Yuuri had been skating long enough to know how to get ready to skate). The Russian team was already on the ice, working on all of the pieces of their routine that needed to be perfected before the next competition, and Viktor kept his eyes off of them.

That should be him.

The thought was in his head before he'd gotten the chance to bury it down, and Viktor was just glad that he hadn't spoken aloud. He didn't deserve to be bitter toward Yuri and Georgi and Mila and everyone else; he was the one who had made a dumb mistake and gotten hurt. But it still was hard to watch his teammates working with his coach.

Yuuri caught his gaze from where he'd finished warming up, and walked over to Viktor, cupping his cheek and kissing him softly. "You can go home, Viktor, if you want to. Yakov will make sure I'm ready for Four Continents."

He heard Yuri shout something in their direction ("Get a room!" Probably. Trying to keep the normalcy they'd come to in the rink), and Viktor shook his head. "I'm fine. You need to tighten up your step sequence. And work on your jumps. Let's run through your program."

And so Yuuri started practicing, and Viktor let him take a break at the same time as the Russian team (it was at this point that Viktor offered his peace offering lunch to Yakov, who looked at it, looked at Viktor, and nodded, which made him know that he was forgiven, and that took a much bigger weight off of his shoulders than he'd realized).

And that was their routine for the days they had before they had to get onto a plane for Four Continents. Only Viktor and Yuuri left this time, because no one else was needed there. The rest of the Russian team had to train for Worlds, they'd watch Four Continents through a stream or in replays to get a grasp on their competition. And, since Yuri wasn't coming, he was put in charge of Makkachin. He had a key to Viktor's apartment, and that was much easier than _immediately_ asking his neighbors to take his dog again.

The plane to Four Continents was uneventful, both of them fell asleep on the way there, and got to the hotel easily. At the hotel, Viktor knew pictures were probably being taken of them, but he stuck by Yuuri's side, and everyone kept away.

Well, all of the _media_ kept away. As for other skaters… Almost as soon as they were in the hotel, Yuuri got tackled by Phichit, who was also staying there for competition, and immediately demanded that they go to dinner with a long list of other skaters he'd apparently already roped into coming (Viktor recognized only a few of the names on the list, but he also zoned out partially through to check in to their room). He nodded in greeting to Celestino, who was watching Phichit and Yuuri in amusement, clearly used to their antics.

It took almost no convincing for Yuuri to agree to Phichit, which meant that it took even less for Viktor to agree, and the two of them were sat at a table full of loud, excitable skaters not long after they'd set their things into their room.

While there were a few glances in his direction (specifically at the crutches), not a single skater brought up the fact that Viktor was injured, and he was a little bit shocked. Yes, he knew that they had all probably always been afraid of the same happening to them, but that it wasn't even a considered topic of conversation?

The support was unbelievable.

The competition itself was unreasonably close, with so many amazing skaters competing. Otabek Altin (who Viktor had come to know much better in the past few months since the Grand Prix, since he'd found out that he was Yuri's new friend he was texting all the time) skated strong, even taking first for the first day of the competition, and scraping by with the bronze. Phichit had clearly worked hard since the last competition as well, his program much cleaner (if still not quite enough for him to medal). And they were only some of the competitors (for example:  J.J. Leroy from Canada skated well again after his… whatever had happened at the Grand Prix, his scores staying closest to Yuuri's throughout the competition, and managed a silver).

Yuuri, though, was amazing. Amazing enough that the stories of "Nikiforov still coaching Katsuki despite injury" were almost irrelevant underneath the much more important story: "Katsuki takes gold at Four Continents".

Maybe the competition went so smoothly because they had a routine for Yuuri competing alone, and Viktor could forget for a little while that he'd ever been injured. Maybe it was just because Yuuri was _unbelievable_ and definitely did not make Viktor cry with his free program. Not at all. No tears.

They got back to Russia a few days later and training immediately picked up again. Because here was the important part again – Worlds. Yuuri'd already won gold at both of his competitions since the Grand Prix (did _that_ count enough for Viktor's promise to marry him after winning gold? Viktor made the promise, he should be able to make up the rules and say yes). Yuri had gotten his silver (which may as well be gold with Viktor gone) and gold.

And Viktor.

Viktor had gotten injured.

Viktor wasn't competing.

The dread set back down into him, crushing any elation from Yuuri's victory or the fun they'd had with the other skaters. Viktor was supposed to compete in Worlds, that was where he was supposed to undoubtedly show the world that Viktor Nikiforov was not done with the sport.

Instead, he was only going to watch, and to coach.

He was pretty sure that Yuuri was already asleep when he started sobbing the night before their plane was supposed to leave, the pain of being unable to compete getting to him. Yuuri rolling over and wrapping his arms around Viktor, whispering gentle words (in English, in Japanese, in struggling Russian) to calm him down said otherwise. It wasn't _fair_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm not going to put a limit on the chapter count because I'm not //positive// yet, but I think it's 2-3 from here. Worlds is next.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! The first multi-chap I've finished in a LONG time.
> 
> I'm on tumblr on [yoyoplisetsky](https://yoyoplisetsky.tumblr.com/).

Viktor shouldn’t abandon Yuuri, he knew that. He’d coached him this entire season, so abandoning him for Worlds would be a bad idea. That didn’t mean that a selfish part of Viktor didn’t consider it, didn’t desperately just want to disappear from the public eye until he was healed. He was nearly there, he only had a few weeks left, and he’d probably actually be healed by the time that Worlds came around. Not that that mattered any more. Of course Russia hadn’t picked him for their team, he hadn’t expected them to. Not competing for most of the season, and then making it only a single competition before he managed to injure himself?

Viktor was old, and Viktor was broken, and Viktor was never going to figure skate again. That was the answer, right? He just had to lay on the couch with Makkachin on top of him forever. Goodbye, figure skating, hello moping with the dog on top of you. He could hear Yuuri in the kitchen making breakfast and just kept his eyes closed, running his fingers through the poodle’s fur.

He’d gone into this season knowing that he wasn’t going to make it to Worlds, but… that had been by choice. He had chosen to leave and coach Yuuri for the season, there was no part of him at the beginning of all of this that imagined that he might have tried to be in competition in time for it. And he thought that he was fine with it; he’d made it through so many competitions since he’d been injured, shouldn’t he be fine?

He wasn’t. He was not fine. The night before their plane ride, Viktor’s nightly fit grew so loud that Yuuri could hear him crying, and woke up to it – it was humiliating. Yes, Yuuri had held him and told him that he was fine to cry, and that it made sense, but Viktor felt pathetic.

He was the one who’d gotten hurt, and he was just stressing Yuuri out by being so upset.

That time was soon over, though. They only had a few weeks before they were back on plane, heading for the World Championship.

The plane was fine, except that Viktor wasn’t seated next to Yuuri. There had been one seat separate from the rest of them, and before any arguments could start about who had to sit there, Yuuri had spoken up and said that he would, abandoning Viktor with Yakov and Yuri, for the entire plane ride.

Yuri had headphones in the whole ride, tapping out the beat of his skates against his leg, a little nervous tick that Viktor smiled to see. Yuri _was_ only sixteen, after all, still so young. Sure, he was ambitious and beyond talented, and Viktor fully expected him to continue to break world records, but he was also a teenager. And teenagers were allowed to be terrified before their first major competition.

Not that Viktor could talk to him or calm him down or anything, because Yuri wouldn’t pay any attention to him, and then would insist that he wasn’t nervous, and that Viktor was dumb for even suggesting anything like that. Or something along those lines.

As for Yakov, he was far from plane company. Viktor couldn’t remember the last time his coach hadn’t fallen asleep on a plane ride to some competition, and pouted that Yuuri was the one that had to move, not Yakov. Yakov didn’t have to sit by Yuri, it wasn’t like they talked competition for more than an hour, which meant that Yakov could have done that when they got _off_ of the plane, and Yuuri could have sat next to his poor, injured boyfriend.

Which was what Viktor was, he’d admit it. He was injured, and he was sad, and he deserved for Yuuri to sit next to him on this stupid plane ride. After all, didn’t _Viktor_ have to coach _his_ student? What about that, Yakov?

(Though, with Viktor, even less coaching would be done. He wanted to sit next to Yuuri and make out with him for the whole plane ride, not just sit there in silence, staring at the stupid ceiling of the stupid plane.)

After a few hours, the plane finally landed, and Viktor had to wait to get off, because they had to get his crutches down and make sure that he had enough room to get through the aisles, and he moped in his seat, letting Yakov and Yuri go ahead of him. Yuuri started to walk up, and Viktor sighed, leaning back. Now, his boyfriend  was abandoning him off of the plane as well, he supposed. He would just be alone forever. Poor, poor Viktor Nikiforov.

Until Yuuri plopped down in the seat that used to be Yuri’s and leaned in to kiss Viktor gently. “Good plane ride?” He asked, leaning over to rest his head on Viktor’s shoulder, clearly tired from the ride, but also excited for the competition to come. Viktor’s face lit up in excitement, because Yuuri _hadn’t_ abandoned him, and he kissed Yuuri back, only pulling away when Yuuri did, a blush bright on his boyfriend’s cheeks, because there were still people walking down the aisle.

“It was boring. Yakov slept and Yurio ignored me,” Viktor whined, closing his eyes as soon as his head hit Yuuri’s shoulder, a smile lighting up his face again when he heard his laugh. So, maybe his legs were cramping in the seat and he wanted to just get off of the plane and hide away in their hotel room (something that he knew wouldn’t happen, because everyone would want them to hang out, and Viktor would feel obliged to go with Yuuri).

“The person next to me sang along to the music in their headphones the whole ride,” Yuuri supplied the story, closing his eyes against Viktor’s shoulder, letting Viktor watch until the people were done coming. “It was all awful pop music, and she was very into it.”

Viktor smiled, feeling Yuuri yawn into his shoulder. “Tired?”

“Can we stay back tonight? I know everyone’s going to want to go out, but we start practicing soon, and I want to be ready for the competition, and I don’t want to go out with everyone for now. I’ll hang out with them later. Tomorrow night, or something.” Yuuri yawned, again, and Viktor felt his heart soar.

“I’d like nothing less.”

Eventually, they got off of the plane, and Yuuri held onto their bags as Viktor limped (still hating his crutches with a passion, but sort of understanding how to make them work after so long on them) behind them. Yuuri was half asleep, and not up for holding any sort of conversation, so Viktor took it upon himself to animatedly talk about everything that they might do while they were there.

Finally, after what felt like a hundred years, they got to their hotel room. Viktor immediately fell back onto their bed, setting his crutches off to the side, and Yuuri climbed in after only another moment or so, curling up against Viktor and almost immediately drifting to sleep. Viktor sighed, but held him against himself, watching his chest rise and fall. So, maybe he’d been hoping for a few goodnight kisses, or something, but Yuuri had apparently not slept on the plane without Viktor.

Viktor rolled over, letting Yuuri stay on top of him and grabbing his phone. First, he texted Yakov, to make sure that all of their seats for the plane home were by each other, because he was not going to deal with sitting so far away from Yuuri again. And, then, he scrolled through Instagram, seeing pictures starting to file in of skaters showing up for the competition.

He let Yuuri sleep, though, and his boyfriend stayed asleep until nearly ten at night, barely moving once he woke up. “We should just order room service and go back to sleep.” Yuuri’s voice was the only indication to Viktor that he was awake, and Viktor laughed, kissing his forehead.

“What do you want?”

“You pick.” Yuuri yawned, pulling himself off of the bed, leaning in to kiss Viktor before dragging his feet into the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.”

Viktor watched him go, just getting some quick food, and sat on the bed, unable to really go anywhere without picking up his crutches, which didn’t really feel worth his time at all.

Little new happened before the first day of competition,  and Viktor was perfectly happy to stay back with Yuuri when he decided that he didn’t want to go anywhere, which was a few nights, obviously anxious for the competition to come.

Soon, though, the competition began, and Yuuri stood in front of Viktor, dressed in his Eros costume for the last time for performance, and Viktor tugged him in to kiss him, holding him there while Yuuri made a noise of surprise. “I’m sure I don’t even need to tell you what to think about.” Viktor winked, and Yuuri turned bright red, but nodded his head, stepping out onto the ice.

He skated well, but everyone was skating well at Worlds, and Yuuri was in third place at the end of the day, and clearly nervous about it. He went back to the hotel room that night and just laid his head on Viktor’s shoulder, silent for hours while he thought.

Viktor thought in that time too. That day, watching Yuuri skate, he’d expected completely to be upset. He expected to be jealous and pissed and to want to storm onto that ice and take it over, to be Viktor Nikiforov. Instead, he watched his fiancé and his friends skating, and he just sort of… didn’t care. It didn’t care that standing so long with his crutches made his leg hurt, it didn’t matter that he was not allowed on that ice, he barely even wanted to be there.

The next day, he skated better than the day before, better than any day before, and Viktor sucked in his breath, clinging to his crutches as he watched Yuuri skate. His boyfriend stepped off of the ice, shaking, with tears in his eyes, and walked straight over to Viktor, grabbing onto Viktor’s shirt, and Viktor nearly dropped his crutch at the look on Yuuri’s face.

 “Marry me.” Maybe it was a demand, maybe a request, honestly, Viktor wasn’t sure, but he was sure that Yuuri was on his knees in front of him, looking up at him with the same steel in his eyes as the first time, and the same rings as the first time. “I don’t care about our deal, I don’t care if I won gold. I don’t care how many golds I’ve won. I’ll win more. Marry me right now.”

And Viktor couldn’t do what he wanted to (jump up and wrap his arms around Yuuri’s neck and hold him there until someone told them that they were being indecent) because of his damn crutches, so instead he just stared down at his boyfriend who was now his fiancé because he had _asked_ again, and this time, with the exact words, with no room for interpretation, Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki were getting married.

Yuuri could come in last place at this competition, and Viktor wouldn’t even care. Viktor was going to _marry_ Yuuri Katsuki. Nothing else mattered in that moment, except that Yuuri was completely and officially his, to the public now. Viktor realized he hadn’t spoken yet, and his face lit up in a bright grin, kissing Yuuri. “Of course.”

It was the next day that Viktor realized he did miss the ice. Yuuri skated out to do his exhibition, completely alone in the costumes they’d gotten to wear together so few times, and Viktor sighed, leaning against the railing. Halfway through the program, he realized that there were tears in his eyes, and he blinked, in confusion. He wasn’t crying over Yuuri skating his program (he’d long since gotten over those days). He was crying over…

Not skating with Yuuri. It wasn’t not skating in competition, Viktor was almost happy that the last few days, no one had expected him to make a scene on the ice, no one expected Viktor Nikiforov to do something new and crazy. Sure, his name was mentioned a few times, but as Yuuri’s coach, or a hurt competitor, or a score to beat – not what he might have been.

It was a new routine, and one that didn’t last very long, being injured. Only a little while after Worlds, Viktor was able to drop his crutches and get rid of his splints, walking around like normal. He was asked again and again what his plans for the next season were, whether or not he was coming back, but… Well, he didn’t have a good answer yet.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t want to quit skating, not completely. If he never stepped foot onto the ice again, he knew that he’d be upset, that he’d miss it. Skating hadn’t just been part of his life, skating had been his life, and for so many years that he didn’t know if he could stay away from the ice, if even coaching was enough.

He stepped back onto the ice while coaching Yuuri a few weeks after the doctor said it was okay, skating carefully and obviously wary of what had happened last time. It wasn’t that he was afraid of falling, he just… it was so soon after. He didn’t want to try anything that could even aggravate it.

He and Yuuri messed around, pulling each other around on the ice, and laughing, celebrating his win, since they didn’t need to _immediately_ start on Yuuri’s next season.

It wasn’t until the wedding that he finally decided what his life would be. He was going to quit skating.

Viktor Nikiforov didn’t need to be a skating legend.

He needed to be Yuuri Katuski’s husband and coach.

Maybe he’d make Yuuri a skating legend.

Or maybe he could convince Yuuri to take a season off so they could spend an entire year just with themselves. Viktor would like an entire year just to take care of his boyfriend. That would be great. And, if not? They’d skate together for exhibitions, for showcases. That routine wasn’t simple, and he was sure that many fans would be happy to see it again. And he knew that Yuuri would love to skate it, so it was a win-win. He wasn’t just going to up and disappear from the figure skating world.

Viktor Nikiforov would never skate in competition again, but that didn’t mean that Viktor Nikiforov would never skate again.

He just had to go back to their routine from when he’d started coaching, easy enough.

Only now, he got to factor in that Yuuri was his husband.

And that was pretty damn great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your love and support. <3 i'm on tumblr, come talk to me. many, many more ideas in store, so stay tuned.


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